


Strange Encounters

by TheManicMagician



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peter's true superpower is attracting new dads, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Stephen being emotionally inept, Tony is mostly just mentioned this is more Stephen and Peter focused, post Avengers 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 09:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16261439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: As Sorcerer Supreme, the idea of having a child of his own is impractical. The world, the universe, his reality—they need all of his attention. So men like Stark can have and care for their children. Wards. Mentees. Whatever Stark wants to call the boy.Stephen is content for his relationship with Parker to remain purely business. Impersonal, professional.This holds true for approximately three months.





	Strange Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Small disclaimer, literally all I know about Stephen I know from his movie and Avengers 3, I'm pulling his magic abilities outta my butt here.

The first time their paths intersect in New York, it’s entirely happenstance.

Stephen’s enjoying a nice pot of tea with Wong when they hear someone crash into the Sanctum’s foyer. He rushes down the stairs, Wong at his heels, ready to deal with the threat. The front window of the Sanctum is shattered, and Spider-Man groans as he picks shards of glass out of his suit.

His head whips towards them, the eye lenses of his suit widening almost comically. “Oh! Dr. Strange! Sorry, I didn’t know this was your house!” Spider-Man springs up. He checks over his webshooters. “Really super, super sorry, this was totally my bad, but I’ve got to go!”

Spider-Man climbs up the wall, and, once he reaches the empty window pane, shoots a web at a nearby building and swings off.

Stephen fixes the broken window with a simple cleaning spell and a flick of his wrist. That evening, he and Wong watch a report on the local news that stitches together a series of blurry cellphone videos which showcase Spider-Man fighting a masked villain the anchors dub “The Rhino”. A fitting name for a heavyset man dressed in body armor stylized like said mammal. Stephen winces as the Rhino grips Spider-Man by the throat, and smashes him through a building. He has to give the kid credit, though; he doesn’t stay down for long, and before the night is over, he delivers a web-cocooned criminal to the NYPD.

Spider-Man’s unintentional intrusion gives Stephen the idea to research shielding spells to further protect the Sanctum. Though he balks at such a comparison, he vaguely recalls a spell in one of those _Harry Potter_ movies (Christine dragged him most unwillingly to the theater) that allows the wizards to disguise the existence of a building to passerby by making them unable to focus on it. Whenever they picture the house, their mind will glance right off the idea of it. It’s an intriguing method of disguise, where the building’s defense is actually an offensive strike against the potential threat. Stephen scours the Sanctum library for any texts that explore this concept in depth.

Stephen is halfway through _Travels with Blackstone_ when his Cloak perks up, and tugs him towards the front door.

“Not now.” Stephen tries to dismiss it. The last time the Cloak of Levitation urged him to hurry to the front door, it was because some big-eyed kid was selling cookie dough for a school fundraiser. He doesn’t have time for such distractions (even if the oatmeal raisin cookies had turned out delicious) but the Cloak’s unrelenting pulling on his arm makes him concede.

Stephen reaches the set of double front doors right as the person on the other side knocks. He opens one of the doors.

Spider-Man—Parker, isn’t it?—is standing on his doorstep. No spider suit, just a sheepish-looking kid in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans.

“Dr. Strange, I—I—” The boy rushes out as Stephen lets him in. “—I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I really didn’t want to just crash and dash, but Rhino was going to get away…”

“It’s of no consequence.” Stephen gestures to the repaired window. Parker cranes his neck to see, and gapes.

“Wow, that’s freakin’ awesome!”

The Cloak slips from Stephen’s shoulders, and drapes itself over Parker’s. It squeezes around him in imitation of a hug, and Parker pats the Cloak’s collar. The Cloak had gotten attached, it seems, during the war against Thanos.

“Hey, buddy. I missed you too!”

“Was that all?” The question comes out curter than he intends, and Parker’s face falls.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry. God, I’m bothering you, aren’t I? I’ll just. I’ll just go.” Parker babbles. He shrugs the Cloak off his shoulders, and awkwardly shuffles back out of the Sanctum.

The Cloak does not settle itself back on his shoulders, but flares out, seemingly angry at Stephen. When he returns to the library, the Cloak sulks in a corner of the room, turned away from him. Stephen lets it, wholly unrepentant. Parker is Stark’s problem, not his.

Stephen has never given much thought to having a child of his own. When he’d been (arguably, some would grumble) the top neurosurgeon in the country, his work consumed his life. He was constantly endeavoring to improve, constantly striving to rise above his fellow physicians’ plateaus. He never fooled himself into believing he had time enough for his career and rearing a child both, so he’d never really pursued the idea.

Christine had hinted at her desire for a child, offhand, when they’d been dating. Stephen had rebuffed the notion every time it was brought up. Perhaps that was part of the reason they didn’t work out. (His cocksure, blunt personality certainly hadn’t done him any favors, either.)

Now as Sorcerer Supreme, the idea of a child is even more impractical. The world, the universe, his reality—they need all of his attention. So men like Stark can have and care for their children. Wards. Mentees. Whatever Stark wants to call the boy.

Stephen is content for his relationship with Parker to remain purely business. Impersonal, professional.

This holds true for approximately three months.

Stephen is awoken in the middle of the night as his Cloak drags him from his bed. He falls hard, smacking his face on the floor.

“Ow!” Stephen presses a hand to his now-sore nose. “What was that for?”

The Cloak flies from the room. Stephen jogs after it. Whatever makes it move so urgently can’t be good. The Cloak leads him to the foyer, and it tugs open one of the double doors before it settles back on his shoulders.

Stephen steps outside and sees the problem. Spider-Man is passed out on his front stoop, his cheek pressed against the other door. His suit is in tatters, his body covered in scratches. The deepest of them appear to be three rough claw marks raked across his chest.

“Parker,” He breathes, taken off guard by the savagery of the attack. He regrets his slip immediately, and looks around; but it seems no one else is walking around Greenwich Village at 4 a.m. on a Thursday.

Stephen lifts Spider-Man in his arms—Parker is surprisingly light—and carries him quickly to a spare bedroom. He retrieves a pair of medical gloves, and gets to work peeling off the blood-caked suit from Parker’s body. A lot of blood has already dried and crusted, and it makes the spandex cling stubbornly to the skin. The kid whimpers as Stephen resorts to yanking strips of the suit off.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Stephen murmurs. It’s all he can think to say, and it’s not all that reassuring. He’s always had a deplorable bedside manner.

Parker’s torso and arms have the worst of it. Stephen leaves the bottom half of the suit on for now, to focus on the kid’s more critical areas. His first order of business is stemming the flow from the wounds that are still bleeding out. Parker isn’t quite in the mortal danger territory yet, but if he loses too much more blood he may well be.

Parker hisses as Stephen applies pressure to the marks on his chest.

“What happened?”

Parker huffs a laugh. “Would you believe me if I told you it was a giant lizard?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“You’d know. You know? Because you’re. Dr. Strange.”

“Yes.” Stephen says, voice flat. He’s suffered every iteration of every possible “strange” joke in his lifetime.

“So what’s the damage, doc?”

“How long have you been bleeding out?”

“Uh. A while?”

Stephen purses his lips. “You may need a transfusion. Does Stark have a stockpile of your blood on hand?”

Parker shakes his head. “Don’t tell him.”

“Parker, does he have it or not? I’ll just call, what’s his number—”

“Don’t!” Parker’s hand locks around Stephen’s wrist. His grip is amazingly strong. “Don’t tell him, please.”

“Why ever not?” Stephen asks, incredulous.

“I—I can’t.” Parker licks his lips nervously. “I can’t—I was closer to him. Distance-wise. But I came here, because I’m fine, I’ll be fine. But it looks real bad, and if I died, Mr. Stark would—I can’t do that to him. Not again. I have to be better. He can’t—I won’t let him see me like this.”

Stupid, stupid kid. And yet, Stephen understands. How harrowing the fear of failure, of the need to impress, is. Insecurity, coupled with the baggage still held over from the war against Thanos…led the boy here. To a comrade in arms, but one not close enough to fall into a panic as he bled on the floor. Strictly professional and impersonal, their relationship is. Stephen knows this, and clearly Parker does, too. So Stephen has no explanation for the ache of genuine concern and worry in his chest.

“I can stop the bleeding. But you need stitches.” Stephen raises his hands, showing how they tremble. “I can’t do that for you.”

“Don’t need them.” Parker grunts. “I heal quickly.”

The blood flow slows with consistent pressure. Stephen cleans and then tightly binds the worst of the wounds. Parker grits his teeth against the pain, and murmurs his thanks.

Stephen steps out briefly to fetch a clean set of clothes for the kid, but when he returns to the guest room Parker is gone. A slight breeze drifts in through the open window.

The next day, after disposing of the bio-hazard that is the shredded Spider-Man suit, Stephen uses a location spell to surreptitiously check up on Parker on his way to school. True to his word, he seems much recovered, albeit paler than normal.

Stephen is relieved, but he dismisses the feeling. It’s not that he cares overmuch about the boy. He’s by no means emotionally invested. It’s just that Stark would come for his blood if he let his protégé bleed out and he’d rather not deal with that kind of a headache.

Stephen watches long enough to see Parker laugh at something his friend says, and he closes the connection.

~*~

Someone’s pounding on the front door.

Stephen frowns. The illusion spell he set up didn’t take, it seems. He’ll have to keep looking into it.

He answers the door, and is surprised to find it’s Parker, once again.

As soon as Parker sees him, he blurts: “I need your help!”

“What’s wrong?” Stephen asks, as he steers the boy to a nearby chair. Parker sounds panicked, but Stephen hasn’t heard of any potentially world-ending disasters of the get-the-whole-gang-back-together-stat variety, so it has to be an issue of a more personal nature. But if that’s the case, why is he coming to Stephen, of all people?

Parker doesn’t look well. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed. Has he been crying?

“It’s May. S-She, it was my fault. I think someone found out who I am—and—God—”

“Slow down. Who is May?”

“My aunt.” Parker says, thickly. “You’ve got to help me save her. She’s all I have.”

Stephen is abruptly reminded that Peter is just sixteen.

“Tell me what happened.”

Parker haltingly explains. He had arrived home three days ago to find his aunt unconscious on the floor, a puddle of blood around her head. Parker had rushed her to the hospital, where it was confirmed she had entered into a coma from the traumatic brain injury. The doctors aren’t sure when—or if—she’ll wake up.

Parker has nothing to go on. He doesn’t know who attacked May, or why. It could’ve just been a random thug and unhappy chance, but it’s much more likely whoever hurt May knew of her relationship to Spider-Man. And it’s possible whoever attacked her, upon learning she survived, will come back to finish the job.

“I need to find out who did this to her.” Parker says. A rare anger glints in his eyes.

“So you want me to help you search the city?”

Parker shakes his head. “Not exactly. I was hoping—is there a way for you to speak with her? Like, in her mind?”

Stephen pauses. “…It could be done.”

Parker rattles off the hospital address, and Stephen uses his sling-ring to take them there instantly. The nurse stationed at the reception desk gapes wordlessly at their entrance. Parker eschews his usual politeness and ignores her, bee-lining for his aunt’s room.

A wave of nostalgia washes over Stephen. He feels instantly at home amidst the familiar sharp scent of antiseptic, and the routine chirps from monitors and machines.

Parker leads him to May’s room. Another patient shares it; Stephen tugs the privacy curtain between them. He grabs May’s chart and reads through it. She had been rushed to the ER due to swelling in her brain, which the doctors had dealt with adequately.

Stephen checks her eyes. One pupil is heavily dilated, but not the other. The damage she sustained could have been much worse, but she is not out of danger yet. Peter takes up his vigil at the seat by her bedside. He holds one of his aunt’s hands between his own.

“Your aunt was admitted three days ago, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“And has she awoken since? Even briefly?”

“No. Is that—is that bad?” Peter squeaks.

“Not necessarily. Three days isn’t a dangerous amount of time to be in a coma.” If days lapse into weeks, May’s prognosis will look far grimmer. He wants to reassure the boy that it’ll all be okay, but cold logic stops the words at his throat. He can’t promise anything right now. “I will now speak with her on the astral plane.”

Peter swallows. “Can you tell her I love her?”

Stephen softens. “Of course, Peter.”

Stephen pushes himself onto the astral plane. He leans over May Parker, and grips her free hand.

“Follow me, May. Follow the sound of my voice. I am an associate of Peter’s.” Her nephew’s name is enough to spur her into awareness. Her consciousness sparks, and Stephen hooks into it, and tugs May’s spirit from her body.

“What the hell?” She whirls around. “Who are you? Peter!”

She drifts over to her nephew, but her hand phases right through his arm. Stephen has slowed time, as well. Stephen’s physical form is still standing, his legs haven’t even buckled yet. And Peter is staring down at his aunt with furrowed brows and a worried set to his mouth.

Stephen quickly explains to May who he is, and why he’s brought her to the astral plane.

“Can you tell me anything about the person who attacked you?” Stephen follows up his explanation with a question.

May touches a hand to her temple. “This is seriously crazy. When I wake up Peter has to give me a full report on all his super-powered friends.” May meets his gaze. “The man rang the doorbell. I thought it was the UPS guy, or something. Once I cracked the door open, he forced his way in. He had a metal bat.”

“And did he say anything to you?”

“Yes. He said the “Scorpion” sent him, whatever that means. And then, he, well.” May gestures to her physical body.

“I understand.” The name doesn’t bring anyone to Stephen’s mind. The villain must be on the lower end of the “Likely to Destroy the Universe as We Know It” scale.

“Don’t let Peter go after him alone.” May crosses her arms and levels an impressive glare his way. “Promise me.”

“He won’t.” Stephen agrees, because what else can he say? He’ll see if Stark is available. But if not, Stephen can’t just walk away from this. “He also wanted me to relay a message. He loves you.”

May smiles at that, the curve of her lips gentle, her eyes sad. She reaches out again to Peter. Her hand grazes the boy’s cheek, pats his hair. Her hand goes right through the brown curls, but the simulation of touch brings her comfort.

“Tell him I love him. And he’ll be okay. No matter what happens to me.”

“I will.” Stephen promises.

“Thank you.” May smiles at him as her spirit sinks back down into her body.

Once sure she’s been safely returned, Stephen also leaves the astral world.

He staggers. His physical form had been off-balance, about to crumple. But he rights himself.

“She said it was the Scorpion.”

Peter’s head whips up. Stephen doesn’t have to ask if he knows him; his reaction is telling enough.

“Toomes.” Peter mutters. “Toomes must have told him.”

Peter’s about to rush for the door when Stephen stops him.

“She also wanted me to let you know she loves you. And that you weren’t to go after him alone.”

“I can handle this.” Peter growls, belligerent.

The kid vibrates with impatient energy. He doesn’t want to be standing here, talking, when he could be out hunting down the man that hurt his last living relative.

“Can’t you prevail upon Stark?”

Peter’s face scrunches up. “Mr. Stark is in Taiwan right now. And besides, I don’t need help!”

As Peter turns again for the door, the Cloak reaches out and wraps firmly around his arm, keeping him here.

“Then I will be the one to help you.” Stephen declares. Peter opens his mouth, but Stephen speaks over any further protests. “End of discussion. It was your aunt’s wish.”

“Fine.” Peter grumbles. “Let’s just get moving already.”

~*~

Stephen hasn’t worked directly with Peter since the fight against Thanos on Titan, but even then he’d just been one cog in a very complex plan. Now that it’s just the two of them putting their heads together, Stephen begins to understand what Stark sees in Peter. The boy is whip-smart and inventive, and when they work together they are able to track down the Scorpion and his associates in a matter of days.

They discover the Scorpion and his associates will be unloading chemicals into a warehouse right off the docks in Hell’s Kitchen. The minor-league arms dealer is dabbling in chemical warfare now. The petty thief they squeeze for information doesn’t know what the chemicals in question are, but they can safely assume that whatever they are, they’re certainly not being brought in for the good of the city.

The shipment is being offloaded tonight. They gear up, and then Stephen transports them to the roof of a building near their targeted warehouse, which gives them a decent vantage point for all the action.

Peter who’s normally quite the chatterbox, remains eerily silent as they settle in to wait. He’s coiled, ready to spring. The Scorpion has made it personal.

When the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the Manhattan skyline, there’s finally some movement. An innocuous-looking boat docks. A minute later, like clockwork, three grey vans pull up on the curb. Thuggish-looking men pile out, heading quickly towards the boat.

Peter points out one of the men.

“That’s him.”

Peter grips onto the ledge, and Stephen realizes he’s about to propel himself off of it. Christ, how does Stark survive trying to protect this kid?

“Wait.” Stephen hisses. “We need a plan.”

“These guys are _nothing_.”

“We don’t know what’s inside the warehouse already. There could be more men, or weapons we aren’t ready for.”

“…Fine.” Peter steps back onto the roof, and they survey the area.

Most of the men move to unload the barrels, but several others have posted themselves around the warehouse perimeter.

“We need to take out the lookouts first.” Peter remarks, squinting to see. “They’ve got sniper rifles.”

“Now aren’t you glad you didn’t just rush in?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter plays it off, but Stephen can hear the apology in his voice. 

“We should take care of the snipers and the men offloading the chemicals before we go inside the warehouse to deal with the Scorpion. If we can do it quietly enough, we’ll be able to sneak in and surprise him.”

“If you take care of the snipers, I’ll web up the guys unloading the stuff from the boat.” Peter pauses. “Dr. Strange?”

“Yes?”

“Scorpion can’t get away.”

“He won’t.” Stephen says, firmly.

They split up. Spider-man swings in from the left, out of the direct line of sight for the snipers. Stephen opens a portal above the sniper closest to Peter’s path. Spells aren’t necessary; Stephen jumps through the portal and drives his boot down onto the man’s skull. He drops to the ground, out cold. His mystic arts would be overkill here—indeed, they might actually kill these men were he to use them—so Stephen incapacitates each sniper with quick, carefully-targeted blows. One of the more useful things he’d brought over from his past life is his knowledge of the human body’s weaknesses. It’s shockingly easy to render a person unconscious if you know what you’re doing.

Once the snipers are dealt with, Stephen flies to the boat. Spider-Man has rounded up the criminals and webbed them all together in a giant ball. He’s squatting down before one of the bright yellow barrels, tracing the label with his thumb.

“Strychnine.” He reads. “Karen, what’s—”

“It’s a pesticide.” Commonly used to kill pests like rodents, birds. Spiders.

Spider-Man whirls, webshooters primed. Then he deflates.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Scorpion will wonder what has happened when they don’t finish unloading.” Stephen’s gaze cuts to the cart the men were using to haul the barrels inside. It’s stacked three barrels high and five across of the strychnine. “I have an idea.”

~*~

Stephen pushes the cart into the warehouse. It’s admittedly a bit of an effort for one man, but he manages.

Scorpion is at the far end of the warehouse, tallying up the barrel count on a notepad. Stephen looks around. There’s not just strychnine here. There are several types of pesticides, poisons, and hallucinogens. Just what is the man planning?

The Scorpion turns as the wheels of the cart squeak on the floor.

“Took you long enough. What was the hold up?”

He stiffens as he fully takes in Stephen. Not his guy. Compromised. The Scorpion doesn’t hesitate; he whips out a gun and fires. Stephen raises a quick shield of magic, and the bullets bounce off harmlessly.

There’s a flutter of motion behind the Scorpion, a shift of fabric. The criminal whirls and fires, emptying his clip.

The Cloak flutters to the ground from where it’d been waiting in the rafters, shaking the bullets from its folds. It’ll take more than a man-made weapon of such low caliber to damage a mystic artifact like the Cloak.

“What the hell—”

Spider-Man bursts from his hiding place amidst the barrels on the cart. They’d dragged the center barrels off, and had him crouch down in the middle of the ring of barrels to lie in wait.

The Scorpion pulls out another handgun, and Stephen readies a spell, but neither of them are faster than Spider-Man.

Peter catches the Scorpion across the cheek, his superhuman strength taking the man to the ground. The gun, useless, slides across the floor. Spider-Man kicks the Scorpion in the chest, and Stephen can see the man’s ribs cave in. He howls. Spider-Man grabs him by his shirtfront, fist raised to break his jaw.

“Spider-Man.” Stephen interjects. “That’s enough.”

“Yeah, listen to your friend, Parker.” The Scorpion’s laugh is more a wet wheeze than anything.

“Peter.” Stephen squeezes his shoulder.

“He hurt her,” Peter says, anguished.

“I know he did. But he’s lost. He’s going back to jail. You don’t want his death on your conscience. You do not want to go down this path.”

Spider-Man bows his head. Then, he lets the Scorpion go, and webs him to the ground. A burst of pride swells in Stephen. Peter’s a good kid.

“Pussy.” The Scorpion grins with a set of bloody teeth. “You think this is over? I’ll get out again, Petey. And next time I won’t bother sending someone else. I’ll find May Parker and stick my cock in her—”

Stephen doesn’t let him finish the threat. He mutters a spell, one of his own design. He presses his fingertips to the Scorpion’s temples. The man’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Then Stephen releases him, and he blinks, dazed.

“The fuck did you do to me?”

“Who is this?” Stephen gestures to Spider-Man.

“It’s—It’s—” The Scorpion’s eyebrows furrow with intense concentration, but he can’t form the name.

“What did you do?” The eyes of Spider-Man’s mask are wide.

“A modification of a disguise spell I’ve been working on. Your identity is protected, now. He’ll never be able to say your name, or write it. He can’t even think of it.” Whenever he tries, the names of Peter and May Parker will just slide off his mind, like a bead of water on a glass.

Stephen puts in a call at the local tip line, and together he and Peter watch from their earlier vantage point as the police arrest the whole gang of criminals.

Stark, upon his return from Taiwan, arranges for the Scorpion—real name, Mac Gargan—to be taken to a high security facility outside of New York State.

May Parker awakens from her coma before the week is through, which Stephen finds out when a crying, babbling Peter calls him at two in the morning to share the good news. May needs time to recover before she can go back to work. Stark sweeps in and helps the Parkers relocate to a new apartment in Brooklyn. Though Stephen wiped their names from the Scorpion’s mind, others still might know their address.

Stephen’s in the middle of reading a report from Wong when his phone buzzes with an unfamiliar number.

_“Hello there, David Blaine.”_

“Stark. To what do I owe the honor?” Stephen quips.

_“The kid filled me in one what you did for him. Guess you’re slightly less of a pretentious asshole than I took you for.”_

“I’m sorry, is this really how you express your gratitude to people?”

 _“Quiet you.”_ Stephen could feel the man’s smile over the phone. _“But really. Appreciate it.”_

“It was just a—what did you call it before? A professional courtesy.” If his heart warmed when Peter and his aunt sent him a handwritten thank-you card, that is only for him to know.

But Stark isn’t fooled. _“You might not realize it now, but you will. That spiderling has already become attached. You watch. Soon he’ll be over your Hogwarts knockoff of a house begging to learn how to cast spells or whatever.”_

Stephen pauses to parse out the man’s tone. “Stark, are you _jealous_?”

 _“Of course not!”_ Stark denies, too vehemently. _“I just wanted to say, if he does happen to come over, there’s got to be some limits in place. Don’t drag my kid into any alternate dimensions, or even worse, get him hooked on that magic mumbo jumbo. I’m raising a man of science, damn it.”_

“No promises.”

Stephen hangs up over Stark’s protests.

A text pops up from Peter, asking if they’re still on for tomorrow. Little did Stark know, Peter’s already approached him, curious about the mystic arts. He feels indebted to them for how they helped his aunt communicate when science was helpless. He begged to learn, and Stephen is happy to teach.

Stephen confirms their plans with a smile.


End file.
